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Down the Lonely Road of Snow
I remember when the dreams started; the first one was just me. It was night, and I couldn't see far in front of me, and I wouldn't look behind me. All there was was a long sidewalk with snow on either sides. My pace was slow and I would shiver often due to the cold and falling snow. When I finally sensed dread, my mother woke me up to get ready for school; it stopped for about ten nights, then it happened again. I was on the same lonely stretch of sidewalk, snow on either sides; it was the same although I did hear it behind me that time. It wasn't a human thud, thud footsteps, it was not bipedal, it sounded more like pid pad, pid pad not hoofed; it was strange and I was about to look, but my mother woke me again. The dreams continued like this for a while. But then it got worse. Everything was the same; over the course of time, more footsteps had found their way behind me. The dream had seemed like it would play out the same, but of course, it didn't. I seemed to slow down as the dream went on; finally, I stopped and stood there, wanting to see what was behind me, but also not wanting to. I woke up and ran to the bathroom across the hall and barfed into the toilet; that dream was making me sick, literally. I thought I was free of the dream, and I was. For a few years. I was in college with my friends; there was a big test and I didn't have much sleep, and when I finally did, I knew the dream before it started. The same sidewalk, the same snow, the same dread. I didn't know until it happened. I turned around to see four pairs of icy blue eyes, starting at me, and one pair of glowing red eyes. I turned back and ran; I became dizzy and I couldn't see but I kept running; when I could see again, the snow was as red as the monster's eyes and the snow wasn't falling anymore, no. It was replaced by blood dripping down; it ran cold down my spine and I woke up in bed. I smiled and giggled; I took a few strips of cloth and carefully gagged my friends. I found a knife and I went up to my first friend and I stabbed her in the throat and pulled upwards; when she was dead I carefully carved emblems and symbols into her arms and when I was done I smiled and looked upon my artwork; it was sloppy and I did it again to my second friend, this time slicing an X into her stomach deeply; this time I took a pocket knife to do the designs and it turned out much better. The third and last friend was also my lifelong friend; I smiled and tied her down before waking her. She saw me smiling and holding the blood covered knife; I held the tip to her neck and sliced down her neck, down her chest, down the stomach. She died quickly and so I began carving, I carved symbols with my pocket knife and smiled and looked upon my masterpiece; I decided to number them on which I did first to which I did last and smiled as I took more pocket knives and pinned them up by their hands to the walls. They caught me, not like I was hiding; they threw me in jail, but I only ate little bits and the rest of the time curled up into a little ball, smiled, and rocked back and forth. They decided to put me into a mental hospital instead. It was the same; one day I found something sharp and drove it into someone's back, I didn't know who. But I immediately heard the sounds of a gun, click, click, BOOM. I fell limp and woke up on the sidewalk; everything was normal; I still walk on the sidewalk, never looking back. Category:Dreams/Sleep Category:Mental Illness Category:Dismemberment